As numerous as stars, as varied as peoples in the sky. Of a surety a known fact to all the crew of Aurora’s far-sailing vessel. The Daybright scours every corner of the skies, known to all, has seen all. For in this age, few places this side of the skies had not a record in their chronicles, if sufficiently far-reaching, of a visit of the Daybright. Between the ancient airship’s visits, villages could grow into populated metropolitan centers, and more primitive people look upon the ship as though the return of some deity from days in the dark. And yet of all cities in this age still stood, there was but one which could measure her to the Daybright’s scale: Tithonus. The city had been there since the first age recorded. Her name of splendor is a synonym for the word antiquated.
And in all but name, she is Aurora’s city. The Lady of the Dawn’s second home, if there was one she ever acknowledged besides the Daybright.
A shining body of water bound her extremities from all sides. A single mountain rose from the lake’s center, elevating the city to overlook the rich farmlands and vast prairie beyond the shore. Watercrafts large and small crowded the outer and inner coast, while aerial vessels docked on the plains, in reverence of the Dragon’s mastery over Tithonus’ airspace.
Tithonus was built on and into the mountain. Over half of the mountainside was covered in tall ramparts and densely populated streets, some after centuries of excavation had thrust between stone and earth and tunnel up or downwards. Its maze-like nature wormed round and round, disappearing and appearing, merging cultures and architectures, blending centuries in its wake. But for all her splendor and great wealth, the city bore every aspect of a relic. And to traverse the city is to make a journey in time.
Nearer to the water being the fisheries and berths of tiny craft, permanent tents, and camps, crafted and draped in leather or felt canvas bearing patterns of cultures far and wide, their subsistence lay in the bountiful lake and amicable weather. There is the tale of poverty, simplicity and unchanging ways of life come ages and eons.
Towards the harbor, the lower tiers were more developed, with dirt huts and estates of mortar bricks standing abreast, forming the doorway to proper civilization. But it was upon the stone foundation, cobbled streets, and smoothened outcrop overlooking the quays, that one entered the city in earnest.
Winding paths mingled with steep slopes, convoluted alleys, and hanging bridges. But should one tread with an undistracted mind towards the peak, grinding and fighting for passage through the busy main streets overflowing with ox-drawn carts, drays, cattle, pilgrims, sailors, merchants, and other things nameable or unnameable, one found a mingling of styles that grew gradually antique. Traces of worn slabs laid millennia prior made up their masonry base, and palm trees abounded affording the needed shades between cyclopean or ashlar walls. Nearer to the peak, even more peculiar aspects came into sight - columns, pilasters, arches, courtyards, statues... - all after archaic fashions so lost to time, in this age one finds their likes only in ancient tombs and ruins elsewhere. And at the center, the protruding heart, the peak of cumulations, the climax of mounting antiquity, looming over all, was the citadel of the city: the Sanctuary at the mountain peak. Here was where Aurora had left her most prominent mark. All over the city, her shrines and symbols decorated every household, engraved at every doorstep, and orphans were named after her aspects, but it was the Sanctuary that heartened the pilgrims still leagues from their destination.
As a surety, it was the first thing we descried upon approaching Tithonus: a dome vaster than the greatest of palaces, shading over a complex of buildings, orchards, and various untold functions. Closer we came, shining frescoes became discernable on the dome’s surface, telling of ancient tales few alive could decipher - images of great towers, lost civilizations, legendary deities, and figures that had earned Aurora’s favor awed lays and worshipers alike.
All this, and more not apparent at first glance, was a far cry from the backwater likes of Xenon.
It was not my first time at the city, for Aurora sailed by this port yearly to collect tributes and other valuables of no less import. And yet, a slave as I was, I had not once set foot on its winding streets. And save for the knowledge of the city as a place for retired veterans and aspiring sailors of the Daybright, I was clueless as to her content. But that would soon be amended.
The first day at port, a new batch of recruits, year-round ready at Tithonus, arrived to replenish our flagged number. Supplies began to pour in from the piers to a special berth on the inner coast, reserved for our ship only. But no longer bound to the capstan, my attention was directed elsewhere, to my training and patrol as before, but also the addition of a new, curious duty. Mathilda of Ammonia had decided to remain onboard on her own accord, a request allowed and enigmatically accommodated by the captain. Then our Ala was made her escort if she so wished to visit the city. This confirmed in all but name the import the captain had placed on this noble girl we chanced pick up on the way. And as the others were occupied, and perhaps with talents better employed elsewhere, Gladiola had set the young lady to Litzia’s and my charge.
As for the nature of our assignment, I could only point to the fact that it was, after all, in our Ala’s tradition to dare unusual quests. Ala Vernal was the captain’s might; Ala Hiemal her escorts; and Ala Estival, made up of the most extraordinary alares, were her servants of odd tasks for which a presence more significant than the Wind Rose Alae is required.
In my personal opinion, such tasks hardly compare to escorting a highborn lady on a sightseeing. But it was Gladiola’s order, passed down from the captain herself.
And so, upon Mathilda’s request, we set out the next morning with her two maids and Thea in tow.
I was not a little anxious. Not that I thought the captain would ill-treat her crew for an inability to display utmost courtesy towards an outsider. But there was still in me an apprehension for highborn folk. And the lady possessed the qualities of one in abundance indeed.
Some way from the Daybright’s kelson, Mathilda paused. I wondered if that was even her real name.
“I’m fain to learn of the city and the Alae pledge, yet I do wonder if such a thing is possible in a day’s trip?”
Litzia raised her brows. Unlike me, she was not at all intimidated by the girl’s title. Quite likely that she disliked the girl even for the notion of her being the captain’s guest, and thus the slightest hint of association with her most hated enemy. “The pledge, you say? It is not a thing you learn without a partner, or are you perhaps interested in watching?”
Mathilda started. And blushed. Apparently, the pledge in certain places is more involved than the Daybright’s tradition. Though even between the Anemone alares, the methods still varied a lot.
Betimes, she regained her usual bearing, “I mean how it is done in Tithonus.”
Litzia gave me a look.
“Madam,” it was Thea who came to her aid, “What you wished to see may be found in the Sanctuary at the city’s heart. The alares in the city may already be on their way there. We can guide you to where they gather, but I’m afraid none of us have partaken in the activities there.”
“You were not trained here?” asked Mathilda with genuine surprise.
“No, ma’am,” I said.
For a moment I thought Litzia would reveal for spite her mark. But she took it in strides, and strode as is out of the piers, commencing the sightseeing with a will, if not eagerness. It is true that her mood as we walked Aurora’s city was much better than I had expected. What brought it about I had no idea. And to be fair, she was not all too happy taking glimpses of half-sun little shrines and draconic heads. But the resignation by which she had thus far withheld her temper was not apparent this day. And I saw something not quite as bright, but still has the uplifting quality of hope in her.
I dismissed it for a mental repose in friendly territory. It had been far too long since we could last loosen our nerves in earnest, in a place many of the crew think of as their home port. Here, safety was guaranteed. Not as wholly comfortable for Litzia, I supposed, but doubtless she understood peace, if not what it envisaged.
Mathilda treated it as a sightseeing, no more, no less. At the outermost ring, we met the early market. Baskets of fresh fish and laden porters populated the main streets. Trade flourished everywhere with the Dragon’s patronage, and Tithonus’ location as the closest city in her floating land to the trade routes helped. But pilgrimage was also a booming business, as well as the long stay of aspiring sailors. It was not always easy to catch the Astraea at port across the sky, and Tithonus was the perfect place to wait for her arrival. Perhaps in no other port in the skies that the gender balance was so skewed towards females. Citizens of the city were either retired veterans, sailors’ relatives, or their descendants, with only a few who had purchased and not married into citizenship. Loyalty towards the captain naturally was fierce. A whole dynasty built and nourished by the Dragon’s voyages.
Where we went, people parted and nodded our way with respect and something of awe for alares in active service.
It is not rare for sailors to become more devoted to the captain after retirement than when working for her. And with it came a respect for her alares, a sentiment shared by both her current and former crew. Though they knew not they were bowing mere bond-slaves. Amusingly, Mathilda was alarmed, at first thinking she was known for who she was. It did not take long for her to realize Litzia’s horns and tail were what directed the people’s gaze.
At Thea’s suggestion, we stopped by a tea shop to break our fast. It was among the most impressive establishments in the city, perching on an elevated tract of land, overseeing the city’s lower tiers and the glittering lake. Fresh roses, lilies, azaleas, orchids, and a smell of mint decorated the dominating dove-white plaster and elegant furniture. As though a miniature, and humbler iteration of the Hall of Wreaths.
The owner of the place came to our table in person.
“The Dawn’s own Anemone!” exclaimed she, “welcome! Welcome in!”
She introduced herself as Satya, a middle-aged woman with a robust frame and keen eyes. Litzia marked her instantly for a veteran knight.
“News just came in of the ship’s last night arrival, I did not expect you alares would get here so soon,” turning to Mathilda at her side, she asked, “And which of the Alae do you serve, young girl?”
The young lady was at a loss for words. Her maids were modestly dressed. Thea was in her uniform, recognizable to an alaris who had served onboard. Then there was I, an azure.
“The knight I serve is she,” a bit louder than necessary, Thea declared, turning the other patrons’ heads, as she placed a hand on my shoulder before Litzia could react.
“An azure,” Satya raised her brows.
“One of the pledge and gifted for flight,” the maid went on, “an Ala-sister of Ala Estival and Prima Alae Gladiola.” Her voice carried power and undeniable truth. A firm reminder of her origin. Thea despised her birth, and often she deliberately squatted her poise and camouflaged it under layers of sailor crude mannerism. But in moments like these she let slip her refined decorum, and somewhat haughty bearing.
I see no reason to take pride in my occupation, knowing that I was not picked for my abilities as an alaris. Thea simply enjoyed boasting about her friend, I suppose.
“Ala Estival, you say?” the shop owner said, with a hint of surprise.
“My sister-alae indeed, mother.”
We turned, Acis stood at the entrance to the terrace.
“Hyac—Acis!” Satya rose, stumbled over her daughter’s name. “Come, join us, my dear! I was waiting for you.”
Acis frowned, but the cause of her annoyance she did say, “Yes, mother, but I can’t stay for long. I must go to the Sanctuary.”
“Even so, sit.” And she bade her waitress to bring along new cups and sweets.
“I can’t stay for long,” she repeated. I could not tell if it was our presence that annoyed her so, but she appeared uncomfortable. I wondered why Galanthus was not with her.
As we settled down once more, Mathilda remarked with awe, “A knight's household and a knight's daughter. Is this at all usual?” Perhaps this was what she meant by learning of the pledge in Tithonus.
A tinge of woe painted the mother of our pledge-sister’s face. “No, missus. Such things happen, but ours was a privileged household. So we once were.” The generous and animated woman seemed to wither at her own words, but she soon recovered. “One of us had served in the Anemone for so many generations.”
“There’s a trial held every year,” I explained, “to choose among the alares in the city potential candidates for the captain’s service.”
And if Acis was here homed, it stood to reason that she was recruited to the Anemone through this trial. But I did not speak this out loud, the memory of some nights before being still livid in my mind.
Mathilda did not know this, and raised this point.
“If you must learn of it,” Acis answered, “then you may come with me to the Sanctuary. I am bound there to sign up for the trial.”
For obvious reasons, the trial was held at any time of the year when the captain came to the city. Less so is the fact that Acis would have to participate in it again, with a pledge-sister already waiting for her back on the ship.
But with a keen look, Litzia warned me not to probe further. Next to me, Thea squeezed my hand under the table. She too had recognized something I had not.
Whatever this thing was, the mother and daughter skirted the issues, with splendid sleight of words, as they answered Mathilda’s inquiries. And thus by the hour’s end, we departed with Acis at our lead.
As numerous as stars, as varied as peoples in the sky. Of a surety a known fact to all the crew of Aurora’s far-sailing vessel. The Daybright scours every corner of the skies, known to all, has seen all. For in this age, few places this side of the skies had not a record in their chronicles, if sufficiently far-reaching, of a visit of the Daybright. Between the ancient airship’s visits, villages could grow into populated metropolitan centers, and more primitive people look upon the ship as though the return of some deity from days in the dark. And yet of all cities in this age still stood, there was but one which could measure her to the Daybright’s scale: Tithonus. The city had been there since the first age recorded. Her name of splendor is a synonym for the word antiquated.
And in all but name, she is Aurora’s city. The Lady of the Dawn’s second home, if there was one she ever acknowledged besides the Daybright.
A shining body of water bound her extremities from all sides. A single mountain rose from the lake’s center, elevating the city to overlook the rich farmlands and vast prairie beyond the shore. Watercrafts large and small crowded the outer and inner coast, while aerial vessels docked on the plains, in reverence of the Dragon’s mastery over Tithonus’ airspace.
Tithonus was built on and into the mountain. Over half of the mountainside was covered in tall ramparts and densely populated streets, some after centuries of excavation had thrust between stone and earth and tunnel up or downwards. Its maze-like nature wormed round and round, disappearing and appearing, merging cultures and architectures, blending centuries in its wake. But for all her splendor and great wealth, the city bore every aspect of a relic. And to traverse the city is to make a journey in time.
Nearer to the water being the fisheries and berths of tiny craft, permanent tents, and camps, crafted and draped in leather or felt canvas bearing patterns of cultures far and wide, their subsistence lay in the bountiful lake and amicable weather. There is the tale of poverty, simplicity and unchanging ways of life come ages and eons.
Towards the harbor, the lower tiers were more developed, with dirt huts and estates of mortar bricks standing abreast, forming the doorway to proper civilization. But it was upon the stone foundation, cobbled streets, and smoothened outcrop overlooking the quays, that one entered the city in earnest.
Winding paths mingled with steep slopes, convoluted alleys, and hanging bridges. But should one tread with an undistracted mind towards the peak, grinding and fighting for passage through the busy main streets overflowing with ox-drawn carts, drays, cattle, pilgrims, sailors, merchants, and other things nameable or unnameable, one found a mingling of styles that grew gradually antique. Traces of worn slabs laid millennia prior made up their masonry base, and palm trees abounded affording the needed shades between cyclopean or ashlar walls. Nearer to the peak, even more peculiar aspects came into sight - columns, pilasters, arches, courtyards, statues... - all after archaic fashions so lost to time, in this age one finds their likes only in ancient tombs and ruins elsewhere. And at the center, the protruding heart, the peak of cumulations, the climax of mounting antiquity, looming over all, was the citadel of the city: the Sanctuary at the mountain peak. Here was where Aurora had left her most prominent mark. All over the city, her shrines and symbols decorated every household, engraved at every doorstep, and orphans were named after her aspects, but it was the Sanctuary that heartened the pilgrims still leagues from their destination.
As a surety, it was the first thing we descried upon approaching Tithonus: a dome vaster than the greatest of palaces, shading over a complex of buildings, orchards, and various untold functions. Closer we came, shining frescoes became discernable on the dome’s surface, telling of ancient tales few alive could decipher - images of great towers, lost civilizations, legendary deities, and figures that had earned Aurora’s favor awed lays and worshipers alike.
All this, and more not apparent at first glance, was a far cry from the backwater likes of Xenon.
It was not my first time at the city, for Aurora sailed by this port yearly to collect tributes and other valuables of no less import. And yet, a slave as I was, I had not once set foot on its winding streets. And save for the knowledge of the city as a place for retired veterans and aspiring sailors of the Daybright, I was clueless as to her content. But that would soon be amended.
The first day at port, a new batch of recruits, year-round ready at Tithonus, arrived to replenish our flagged number. Supplies began to pour in from the piers to a special berth on the inner coast, reserved for our ship only. But no longer bound to the capstan, my attention was directed elsewhere, to my training and patrol as before, but also the addition of a new, curious duty. Mathilda of Ammonia had decided to remain onboard on her own accord, a request allowed and enigmatically accommodated by the captain. Then our Ala was made her escort if she so wished to visit the city. This confirmed in all but name the import the captain had placed on this noble girl we chanced pick up on the way. And as the others were occupied, and perhaps with talents better employed elsewhere, Gladiola had set the young lady to Litzia’s and my charge.
As for the nature of our assignment, I could only point to the fact that it was, after all, in our Ala’s tradition to dare unusual quests. Ala Vernal was the captain’s might; Ala Hiemal her escorts; and Ala Estival, made up of the most extraordinary alares, were her servants of odd tasks for which a presence more significant than the Wind Rose Alae is required.
In my personal opinion, such tasks hardly compare to escorting a highborn lady on a sightseeing. But it was Gladiola’s order, passed down from the captain herself.
And so, upon Mathilda’s request, we set out the next morning with her two maids and Thea in tow.
I was not a little anxious. Not that I thought the captain would ill-treat her crew for an inability to display utmost courtesy towards an outsider. But there was still in me an apprehension for highborn folk. And the lady possessed the qualities of one in abundance indeed.
Some way from the Daybright’s kelson, Mathilda paused. I wondered if that was even her real name.
“I’m fain to learn of the city and the Alae pledge, yet I do wonder if such a thing is possible in a day’s trip?”
Litzia raised her brows. Unlike me, she was not at all intimidated by the girl’s title. Quite likely that she disliked the girl even for the notion of her being the captain’s guest, and thus the slightest hint of association with her most hated enemy. “The pledge, you say? It is not a thing you learn without a partner, or are you perhaps interested in watching?”
Mathilda started. And blushed. Apparently, the pledge in certain places is more involved than the Daybright’s tradition. Though even between the Anemone alares, the methods still varied a lot.
Betimes, she regained her usual bearing, “I mean how it is done in Tithonus.”
Litzia gave me a look.
“Madam,” it was Thea who came to her aid, “What you wished to see may be found in the Sanctuary at the city’s heart. The alares in the city may already be on their way there. We can guide you to where they gather, but I’m afraid none of us have partaken in the activities there.”
“You were not trained here?” asked Mathilda with genuine surprise.
“No, ma’am,” I said.
For a moment I thought Litzia would reveal for spite her mark. But she took it in strides, and strode as is out of the piers, commencing the sightseeing with a will, if not eagerness. It is true that her mood as we walked Aurora’s city was much better than I had expected. What brought it about I had no idea. And to be fair, she was not all too happy taking glimpses of half-sun little shrines and draconic heads. But the resignation by which she had thus far withheld her temper was not apparent this day. And I saw something not quite as bright, but still has the uplifting quality of hope in her.
I dismissed it for a mental repose in friendly territory. It had been far too long since we could last loosen our nerves in earnest, in a place many of the crew think of as their home port. Here, safety was guaranteed. Not as wholly comfortable for Litzia, I supposed, but doubtless she understood peace, if not what it envisaged.
Mathilda treated it as a sightseeing, no more, no less. At the outermost ring, we met the early market. Baskets of fresh fish and laden porters populated the main streets. Trade flourished everywhere with the Dragon’s patronage, and Tithonus’ location as the closest city in her floating land to the trade routes helped. But pilgrimage was also a booming business, as well as the long stay of aspiring sailors. It was not always easy to catch the Astraea at port across the sky, and Tithonus was the perfect place to wait for her arrival. Perhaps in no other port in the skies that the gender balance was so skewed towards females. Citizens of the city were either retired veterans, sailors’ relatives, or their descendants, with only a few who had purchased and not married into citizenship. Loyalty towards the captain naturally was fierce. A whole dynasty built and nourished by the Dragon’s voyages.
Where we went, people parted and nodded our way with respect and something of awe for alares in active service.
It is not rare for sailors to become more devoted to the captain after retirement than when working for her. And with it came a respect for her alares, a sentiment shared by both her current and former crew. Though they knew not they were bowing mere bond-slaves. Amusingly, Mathilda was alarmed, at first thinking she was known for who she was. It did not take long for her to realize Litzia’s horns and tail were what directed the people’s gaze.
At Thea’s suggestion, we stopped by a tea shop to break our fast. It was among the most impressive establishments in the city, perching on an elevated tract of land, overseeing the city’s lower tiers and the glittering lake. Fresh roses, lilies, azaleas, orchids, and a smell of mint decorated the dominating dove-white plaster and elegant furniture. As though a miniature, and humbler iteration of the Hall of Wreaths.
The owner of the place came to our table in person.
“The Dawn’s own Anemone!” exclaimed she, “welcome! Welcome in!”
She introduced herself as Satya, a middle-aged woman with a robust frame and keen eyes. Litzia marked her instantly for a veteran knight.
“News just came in of the ship’s last night arrival, I did not expect you alares would get here so soon,” turning to Mathilda at her side, she asked, “And which of the Alae do you serve, young girl?”
The young lady was at a loss for words. Her maids were modestly dressed. Thea was in her uniform, recognizable to an alaris who had served onboard. Then there was I, an azure.
“The knight I serve is she,” a bit louder than necessary, Thea declared, turning the other patrons’ heads, as she placed a hand on my shoulder before Litzia could react.
“An azure,” Satya raised her brows.
“One of the pledge and gifted for flight,” the maid went on, “an Ala-sister of Ala Estival and Prima Alae Gladiola.” Her voice carried power and undeniable truth. A firm reminder of her origin. Thea despised her birth, and often she deliberately squatted her poise and camouflaged it under layers of sailor crude mannerism. But in moments like these she let slip her refined decorum, and somewhat haughty bearing.
I see no reason to take pride in my occupation, knowing that I was not picked for my abilities as an alaris. Thea simply enjoyed boasting about her friend, I suppose.
“Ala Estival, you say?” the shop owner said, with a hint of surprise.
“My sister-alae indeed, mother.”
We turned, Acis stood at the entrance to the terrace.
“Hyac—Acis!” Satya rose, stumbled over her daughter’s name. “Come, join us, my dear! I was waiting for you.”
Acis frowned, but the cause of her annoyance she did say, “Yes, mother, but I can’t stay for long. I must go to the Sanctuary.”
“Even so, sit.” And she bade her waitress to bring along new cups and sweets.
“I can’t stay for long,” she repeated. I could not tell if it was our presence that annoyed her so, but she appeared uncomfortable. I wondered why Galanthus was not with her.
As we settled down once more, Mathilda remarked with awe, “A knight's household and a knight's daughter. Is this at all usual?” Perhaps this was what she meant by learning of the pledge in Tithonus.
A tinge of woe painted the mother of our pledge-sister’s face. “No, missus. Such things happen, but ours was a privileged household. So we once were.” The generous and animated woman seemed to wither at her own words, but she soon recovered. “One of us had served in the Anemone for so many generations.”
“There’s a trial held every year,” I explained, “to choose among the alares in the city potential candidates for the captain’s service.”
And if Acis was here homed, it stood to reason that she was recruited to the Anemone through this trial. But I did not speak this out loud, the memory of some nights before being still livid in my mind.
Mathilda did not know this, and raised this point.
“If you must learn of it,” Acis answered, “then you may come with me to the Sanctuary. I am bound there to sign up for the trial.”
For obvious reasons, the trial was held at any time of the year when the captain came to the city. Less so is the fact that Acis would have to participate in it again, with a pledge-sister already waiting for her back on the ship.
But with a keen look, Litzia warned me not to probe further. Next to me, Thea squeezed my hand under the table. She too had recognized something I had not.
Whatever this thing was, the mother and daughter skirted the issues, with splendid sleight of words, as they answered Mathilda’s inquiries. And thus by the hour’s end, we departed with Acis at our lead.
